I live in Japan, and occasionally, I invite friends over for dinner. It should first be noted that this is not a common Japanese practice. People here don’t typically invite others to dine at their homes but prefer restaurants.

That’s why it’s even more remarkable that every time, around 11 p.m., someone will automatically say, "Shall we head home?"

Everyone promptly agrees, and then one person starts washing dishes, another sweeps the floor, a third sorts steel cans from aluminum ones—as required by local regulations—and so on.

Within fifteen minutes, the house is cleaner than when they arrived.

To me, this illustrates one of the most extraordinary qualities of this admirable people. In my nearly forty years here, no one has ever left my home without cleaning up. Ever.

Here are two of my guests, two elderly deaf ladies with whom I study sign language, washing dishes at my home after a recent dinner invitation.

The habit I wish to highlight is this culture of consideration for others, which manifests in countless other ways.

Suppose, for example, you express an interest in bats. Soon, you’ll start receiving newspaper clippings about bats, emails with article links, photos, souvenirs—anything they can find. No request is necessary.

Fresh example from today: Last week, I discussed synesthesia (a phenomenon where one sense triggers another—e.g., a musical note evoking a specific smell) with a friend. This morning, she mailed me a newspaper clipping about French poet Arthur Rimbaud’s synesthesia.

This is the Japanese way. They frequently exchange small gifts like this. These are tiny, unexpected tokens—often sweets—which makes them all the more delightful. The gift must be modest and inexpensive to avoid triggering escalating reciprocal gifts.

This is why shops overflow with sweets priced between €1 and €3. Presentation is always meticulous; half the gift’s value lies in finding something beautiful, intriguing, affordable, and perfectly suited to the recipient.

All this creates a uniquely warm, gentle atmosphere—a pervasive human kindness I’ve never experienced outside Japan.

I teach Italian, and a spontaneous ritual has emerged: gift-giving occupies the first five minutes of every lesson. I’m perpetually amazed by what they find for mere pennies.

I often forget to bring gifts myself, but no one minds—the small presents keep coming anyway. It’s not that they dismiss me as a forgetful foreigner; they simply understand it’s unintentional oversight.

In other words, they acknowledge my individuality—contradicting a common stereotype about them.

As one of my three students explicitly told me: she loves giving gifts because "they speak for her." Like many Japanese, she feels inarticulate with words. Small gifts say what she cannot.

The box of sweets shown costs about €10 and contains ten exquisite treats. One box lasts through multiple meetings over a week or two. Note the exquisite design—remarkable for such an affordable product.